


he spends his nights looking at the stars

by leslieknopedanascully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 10:36:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4218477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leslieknopedanascully/pseuds/leslieknopedanascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aftermath of s02e06 "Ascension." Mulder is haunted by Scully's disappearance. PG for mild violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he spends his nights looking at the stars

he spends his nights looking at the stars, sitting at his desk, the window open, a balmy breeze rustling the mess of papers before him. in his hand is her necklace. the thin gold chain feels cool and delicate in his hands, like he’s holding a whisper.

ruffled hair. bloodshot eyes. the stubble on his chin threatening a beard. he hasn’t slept in days and it’s showing.

because when he closes his eyes, he sees her.

first he hears her. that last message she left him playing on an endless loop in his head. her gasp. the sound of breaking glass. her voice, saying his name and,

_i need your help._

then he sees her. he sees her in her apartment, fighting, struggling. he sees her crawling to the small table by the couch, reaching for her gun. and even though he tries not to, he sees her being yanked away, he hears the sickening sound of her hand scraping against the glass of the table, marking it with blood. he sees her on the floor, her red hair falling in her face as she reaches for the phone and calls out to him,

_i need your help._

but the worst is when he feels her. when, delusional from sleep deprivation, he drifts into a strange purgatory between sleep and wakefulness, and he feels it. a light pressure on his shoulder. and it’s her, he knows her touch, the shape of her hand, her fingers. he can feel her presence, can sense her shadow falling over him. he knows he’ll turn his head and he’ll see her, her hair curling under her chin, her red lips slightly parted, on the verge of saying—

nothing. it’s not her small hand on his shoulder, but the taunting caress of a coat that slipped off the back of the couch. he feels queasy.

sometimes he doesn’t see her at all. sometimes, when he closes his eyes, he sees the living room of his childhood home. he sees the same nightmare that’s haunted him since he was twelve. the flash of light and his sister floating away from him. away, away, and he’s reaching for his father’s gun, but it’s too late, she’s already gone away, away…

and now, all these years later, he still feels like that little boy, too late to grab the gun. immobile. useless.

it was easier before her. before her, he could risk everything. he had nothing to lose. but she, she had never asked for any of this.

he traces the necklace’s pendent with his thumb. he feels strange holding the little gold cross that, before, had seemed as inseparable from her as her green eyes, her teasing smile.

for all his believing, he had never been terribly religious. he has vague childhood memories of church on easter, of a porcelain nativity scene on the mantle at christmas, of half-hearted mutterings of thanks for food a plenty at thanksgiving dinner. but that is where his relationship with god starts and ends.

one would think that after his sister’s abduction, he may have turned to god for solace, or perhaps cursed god for taking her away from him, but towards god he was wholly indifferent. god had not taken his sister away from him, and god could not bring her back, and, as far as he was concerned, his time was better spent believing in whatever had abducted her. 

staring at the necklace, he wonders if, wherever she is, she’s finding comfort in god. if she’s whispering prayers, if she sometimes touches her neck, reaching for a comfort that’s slipped away from her.

he regrets that in the year he’s worked with her, he’s never asked her about the necklace. he’s never asked her if, despite her skepticism, she’s able to blindly put her faith in a completely abstract entity.

and now, he wonders if he’ll ever be able to ask her those questions. 

he spends his night looking at the stars. her necklace, all he has left of her, safe in his fist. a gray cloud drifts into sight, obscuring the winking stars. 

he whispers to the sky, _i'll find you._

_i have to find you._


End file.
